Finis: End of the Beginning
by Naissus
Summary: SBRL. "Peter's not part of us" spat he, and Remus felt him tense in anger. "He was a horrible, evil man. We're glad he's dead. Glad he died before he could hurt anyone."


_A story that begins horribly and ends disgustingly cutely, probably like most things I write? The gorgeous SBRL. I hate the idea of 'AU', but maybe this counts a teeny bit, because James and Lily both survive and so do Remus and Sirius and it's all happy and no one gets separated. I wrote this to cheer myself up when I was miserable. Enjoy :)_

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_**Finis: end of the Beginning.**_

Hell. London writhes. It's a night so vicious that a person could easily die simply from having seen it, really seen it. In an unremarkable square study, a young man paces restlessly back and forth, haunted by himself. He breathes deeply, trying to calm himself, but only makes him more terrified. A sharp crack outside, like a life coming tumbling down, and he rushes to the window, panting heavily now. The tree is split open, revealing its pale innards. It whines twice, and finally rests. The man makes a whimper noise. He whirls around, sure he can see shadows creeping behind his eyes.

He sits. His hands are trembling. He stares at them, and wonders what has become of him? A short laugh, which he gets caught in his throat and he coughs. He's getting frightened now. He shuts his eyes, weeping into the shaking hands. He cannot stop. More and more; he's scaring himself. He wheezes, trying to regain his breath, and suddenly vomits over the desk. In his shock, he begins to cry again, harder and harder and he cannot breathe and _crash-_ this time it's certainly them coming for him, and he's under the desk, weeping so heavily his chest is squeezing, and he's trying to breathe but he's sick again and he's so very frightened, worse than anything, worse than werewolves and Death Eaters and threats and living with himself. Hell. The darkest deepest corner of. Reserved for traitors.

He never gets up off that floor again because it's just not what happens. He gives up the fight, face twisted in pain.

_**A man who won't die for something is not fit to live. – Martin Luther King Jr**_

"Moony" murmured Sirius, against the back of his neck. "C'm to bed."

"I-" began Remus strangely, and then stopped as abruptly as he had began. Because there was no point trying to explain himself. Sirius had been angry. Furious. Cried buckets. Screamed and punched things and cried more. Sirius is just passionate, emotional. You wouldn't have thought he'd be the one out of the four to understand things, crystal, straight away.

He, was more like bewildered. As if everything was rushing and screaming around him and he was just confused, not even angry, just wondering. The throbbing grief that burrowed into him, then the aching, nagging guilt. The thick, nauseous relief. The blotchy haze, the blur like Sirius's tears. He, hadn't even cried.

"Can't believe he just died" mumbled Remus. "Just like that. Out of the blue."

A hot, firm hand crept into his. "Thank fuck."

"He could so easily have lived" muttered Remus. And he felt very dizzy. The whole thing had been like a vague, nauseous anti-climax. It was too perfect, too coincidental. He was terrified- whether he admitted it to himself- that somehow, this wasn't real. They weren't out of danger. They'd been living in it so long, more cowering than living really, and suddenly, pop. Over.

"I know" said Sirius quietly. And then smiled. Immediately bringing Remus out of his swirling, whirling doubt. Trust Sirius to smile after all this. He held Remus tight to him. "Thank fuck," he repeated. "Thank fucking God he's dead."

"What are the chances that it would have happened right at this point in time?" Remus hopelessly mumbled, words skittering against each other in effort to be expressed. It's one of the many perks of being a werewolf, always expecting the worst, never being able to feel relief at things going right, because they just never do. It always _is_ the worst. And now it's not and he doesn't know how to take it- except dwell on the shadows that might have been. "What if-" A single tear dripped down his cheek, thinking of Prongs' cheerful stride, of Lily's delicate wrist, of Harry's chubby grasp, of horribly beloved beautiful Sirius and every little part of him. Sirius leant forward, Remus closed his eyes, and Sirius kissed Remus first on the right eyelid, then the left.

"Sorry" he whispered brokenly.

"Shh" murmured Sirius, shuffling so the young man was more comfortable in his arms. "We're safe. Prongs and Lily are safe. We're all safe. The war is over, and our loved ones are safe." He repeated it soothingly, as always. Remus would wake up each month, always with his heart racing frantic, agitated like crazy, restless and frightened and in pain. Unsure.

Or, maybe Sirius was just reassuring himself.

"Peter isn't. I can't- wrap my brain around it."

"Peter's not part of us" spat he, and Remus felt him tense in anger.

"But he was. How could- this happen?" he asked, and before he knew it he was crying again, tears dribbling uselessly down his cheeks.

Sirius whispered unintelligible things, so soothing, wiping away Remus's tears tenderly with his bare thumb. "He was a horrible, evil man," he said, finally, firmly. "We're glad he's dead. Glad he died before he could hurt anyone."

"Can't believe he was doing what- well- can't believe it. We wouldn't have ever suspected. He'd have just kept passing them information. He'd eventually have kill-" and it took a long time before he spoke again.

Sirius was rocking them both gently.

"He'd have _killed_ them" cried Remus, angrily, struggling up; Sirius leapt up and grabbed his wrists as he shook and wept. "Eventually he'd have killed them both. We were his friends; we trusted him. What would have happened to us?"

"Which one of us do you think, would have got the blame?" asked Sirius wheezily, his chest shaking violently again.

"Oh- God- I'm sorry" sobbed Remus. "I'm- it just hit me-" and he collapsed onto the sofa, weeping desperately as Sirius had done that day.

Four friends, children really, caught in the middle of a raging war, having just lost their fifth member suddenly. Remus remembered Sirius's annoyance when they'd all been called in with no information, simply some _evidence that you four probably need to see_.

What they were shown was evidence extracted after death by something or other that none of them really were listening to. Peter Pettigrew's memories. And they sat together in stunned, horrified silence. James's hand slipped around Sirius's wrist and clenched it. Lily huddled closer to James, shaking, and Remus sat very still while Sirius's angry fingers dug painfully into his arm, without feeling it.

"I've thought about it" said Sirius miserably, sagging into the sofa next to Remus as if he was it, helpless and over-stuffed and drooping. "Whether I'd rather have taken the blame for it- have you think I helped murder them, was his agent all this time, lied and- never loved you. And I couldn't ever tell you." And Remus looked up at him, entirely broken, and said nothing. "Or you took the blame, not me, and were in my place in Azkaban, and I couldn't ever get to you. Just pace around- on the out- the outside-" he stopped, voice breaking.

Remus burst into fresh hysterical tears, which surprised even Sirius, who looked slightly frightened he was having a nervous breakdown. Control of himself spiralled desperately out of Remus's reach, pulling the other young man into his arms, a man barely out of boyhood, barely a day more mature than he'd ever known him.

"I wouldn't go to prison" said Remus very quietly once his furious, over-the-top cries had softened into sad little choky sobs of treachery. "Werewolf, Sirius."

Sirius thought about Moony and about Peter, and he gripped Remus tight, suddenly terrified.

"Peter's dead" he whispered. "You saw his body. I saw it. We all saw it. He's stone cold dead and not a minute too soon."

"I know" said Remus quietly.

"There's no point making up what would have happened. It didn't. Now it can't."

They'd all been horrified and shaken when they received the news of the untimely end of dear friend Peter Wormtail Pettigrew, of course, and they'd each only been half there when it was explained that due to recent- revelations, the coroner had decided his heart attack could be put down to an already weak aortic valve, plus the intense stress he must have been under- as shown by recent magical evidence.

It made a poetic sort of twisted sense. Poor soft Peter. He wasn't ever strong-willed, deadly, spiteful. He was being blackmailed. He was constantly looking over his shoulder in terror. He was a time bomb.

Sirius gently told him: "He had it coming. And that's all there is to it." How had he already got everything straight? But this is typical Sirius, isn't it. He just has instincts for things. And suddenly, Remus trusted him exactly. Weird strands that he hadn't noticed were tangled around him seemed to melt away.

The strain of keeping secrets, of being a spy, of never being able to relax. Poor fucking stupid Peter wasn't ever a criminal genius. Wasn't ever a character. He couldn't bear that kind of stress.

Remus wound his fingers into Sirius's shirt, feeling suddenly a whole lot calmer and simpler. "Hound of the Baskervilles."

"Messer Holmes, come to bed" grinned Sirius, kissing his jaw. "Maybe he did have a weak heart. Maybe he just- slipped, or something. Got a fright. Being constantly scared, all that. Doesn't matter. He's dead. Voldemort's being contained. We know the truth about Peter." He repeated the facts carefully, relishing each one, reassuring them both they were true.

"You're always taking such good care of me" said Remus, tears starting again to drip down his face, but he didn't know why. Before a full moon he was always either crying or horny. Sirius loved the times he was so horny that he couldn't concentrate on anything and they would spend hours in the bedroom, wrapped around each other: touches and kisses and long heady nights. As for the crying times, he could easily sit for hours, patiently stroking Remus's hair, plaiting little tufts carefully and making him laugh through his sobs, while he just lay there exhausted, silent tears sliding down and clutching something, usually a jumper of Sirius's or something else belonging to him. it was all very poetic. Remus never understood why Sirius put up with him, and Sirius never understood how he could possibly survive without it all.

"I _like_ taking care of you" said Sirius so tenderly that Remus couldn't help smiling despite himself, Sirius's arms wrapped around him on the sofa. "Come to bed" he repeated.

Remus nodded, standing up and lamely following him. They cuddled up together, the weight of the evening evaporating but slowly.

"Changes things, y'know, Padfoot" whispered Remus as Sirius was almost sliding into fitful sleep.

"M'k how" Sirius managed to mumble as Remus's hand crept under his shirt, drawing a little circle on his stomach.

"We're so young, you know? Whole- lives 'head of us. An' we just nearly had it all- puff- go up in flames."

"M'aknow. Buh din't."

"Wanna do it all. Wanna. Won't we?"

"Ev'rything" promised Sirius, nestling against Remus's other hand just like Padfoot. "M'in love w'you, Moony 'n I wanna do ev'rything you do."

"Me too" whispered Remus, chest swelling.

"We will" murmured Sirius, drowsily. "S'all good now. N'more worrying. Whole lives 'head to do it all."

"Yeah" whispered Remus back, nuzzling into Sirius's hot neck as Sirius turned over to face him. "Whole lives ahead to do everything."

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_Hope that ending wasn't too sickening. I was really, really depressed when I wrote this. Hmm. Do you prefer angst or fluff? Please review, you know you want to. (I'm running out of different ways to ask people to review at the end of my stories.) Just do it. Oh God, I'm Nike. :/_

_Anyway, back in the real world: thanks for reading :)_


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